Sleeping Draught
by nyckelpigans
Summary: When Harry has gone missing in Tom Riddle's time in 1942, whom other than Ginny Weasley is fit for the role to bring him back? But the Harry she finds isn't one she recognizes, and would the Slytherin Heir be willing to let her bring Harry back?
1. Chapter 1

**Ginny's POV**

He had been gone for four months; it'd been four whole months without the messy black hair, the trademark grin and earnest eyes. She stayed up late at nights, such as these, and wondered why it'd taken such a toll on her seeing as she'd never been that awfully close to Harry. They'd been friends —_good_ friends— but the horrible feeling that she'd felt ever since he'd been gone was nothing she expected to feel. It was like she'd lost a finger; something unnoticeable to the average eye but to oneself it was a struggle to get used to. As if... a piece of her was gone. A small piece but a piece nonetheless.

Ginny groaned and switched side in her bed. The room was quiet except from the subtle snores from her roommates and once again she felt stupid for being awake so late and losing sleep over something she could prevent. Sleepless potion would be an easy solution but her admittance over the fact that she'd been affected so severely over Harry's disappearance was humiliating. Everyone already thought that she still had her school girl crush on him and this would only push those rumors further. She wasn't good enough in potions to be able to make a sleepless potion herself either.

Ginny sighed. _May that bloody pride be damned_, she thought infuriated at herself.

Glamour charms could only do so much to hide the bags under her eyes. Her loss of sleep was affecting her mood; making her snappier and angrier than usual. It was making her performance in classes and Quidditch worse. How could Harry, of all people, do this? She didn't understand. Ginny was _sure_ she no longer felt anything but platonic feelings for him. That train of pathetic one-sided crushes had passed back in her fourth year. So what was it then? Mere friendship didn't explain it.

They became close friends during her fourth year which was when she realized that she'd painted him to be the illusion of something way different than he truly was. Harry wasn't her white knight in shining armor, he was grey and tainted with something she'd recognized herself from her second year when she'd encountered the diary. He was complex and different to approach but somehow she'd gotten along well with him despite his dark mood in his fifth year. He still was bright, funny —but in a more sarcastic, menacing way than she'd expected— and independent. They'd bonded exceptionally over Quidditch and maybe that was when he'd crawled into her life; during the last two summers. With him always being with Ron and hanging around the Burrow it was simply natural for her to have gotten close to him too as she always engaged in their conversations and the two sometimes spoke alone. But that still didn't explain the feeling she had left. Friends didn't affect you in such a way. Family? Sure, but Harry Potter was most definitely not family. Ginny needed to dig deeper.

She couldn't go longer without any sleep. She needed to bring Harry back from whatever damned place he had ended up. Wherever he was she'd found out and she'd be the one to bring him back.

_That way,_ she convinced herself, _that way I'll be able to sleep._

Frustrated, she yelled into her pillow and then threw it away across the room.

''Ginny?'' a sleep drowned voice called that belonged to her roommate Fatima.

''Yeah?''

''Shut it and go to sleep,'' her roommate ordered and then threw a silencing charm around Ginny's bed poster.

After a good amount of time had passed Ginny finally fell asleep. It was later in the morning with the horrible neck pain that it dawned on her that she'd slept without her pillow. Oh, she growled furiously as she stomped to the restroom, when she found Harry she'd make him realize she was famous for far worse hexes than the Bat-Bogey one.

**Harry's POV**

Harry put on an innocent expression as he questioningly quirked his eyebrow up at the figure in front of him. Even though he'd recently had come in terms with it, he quite liked playing the mind games with Tom. Well, at least when he wasn't at the receiving end of the schemes that they came up with. Both of them had their goals with one another and while Tom's intention was as clear as day Harry still struggled to know exactly where he stood with the other boy. Tom wanted him over at his side —or more accurately, as his little toy to break and fix whenever he pleased— and even though Harry had wanted him dead at first and in some bickering moments he encountered with the other still did, he realized he was stuck in 1942. That was the time before Tom had become Voldemort and if there was any time at all to prevent Voldemort from ever existing it was now.

Even if it meant erasing his own existence Harry would do it. It was his friends existence that held him back. What would happen to Ron and Hermione if Tom Riddle never became a Dark Lord? What would happen to the other random people he'd encountered? Would it throw off some type of time regiment? He didn't know and as he'd learn at his time here in 1942; knowledge was power and without the knowledge he couldn't act blindly. He couldn't when it wasn't his own life that was at sake now, but others. Innocents.

''Are you going to continue to stare off with that blind gaze like a doofus or are you going to respond to what I said like a person with an IQ above four?'' Tom insisted with that charming tone that so many were fooled by. However it now held an impatient edge to it that nearly caused Harry to grin.

It was unhealthy how much he enjoyed to annoy the other boy.

''Excuse me,'' Harry answered with a plastered surprised face, ''was I supposed to act right then like I give a care about anything you say?''

Tom smiled tightly. It was unusual for the boy to lose his temper but Harry guessed that he willingly speaking to the headmaster for that many hours behind Tom's back was also under the category of 'unusual'. Tom didn't like Dumbledore which wasn't surprising. Harry had found himself watching the old man in a clearer light now than he had before. Now that Dumbledore only saw Harry as a time traveler and not the Boy Who Lived he was treated and seen a lot differently in the elder's eyes. Dumbledore didn't hold as much of a pleasant tone, patience or what he'd now learned to identify as a manipulative streak towards him. He still could tolerate Dumbledore at times, but a lot of what he had have with the old man before had faded away.

Harry often wondered if it was the headmaster that had changed or just he himself.

''You're testing my temper,'' Tom pointed out matter-of-factly as he sprawled down on the sofa in front of Harry. They were in the Slytherin common room and it hadn't been many students there when Harry had first came but they'd all gathered up their things and quickly left as soon as Tom came in and cast them a look of irritation.

He quirked his head at the side as if he were observing the other boy and then in the most indulging tone he could muster he said, ''oh, you have a temper? Since when?''

Harry managed to draw out his wand as he realized that the other boy had quickly pulled out his. Even though he had been quick enough to have his wand out Tom had gotten a lead and got close enough to tilt his head back and have the end of his wand pointed at him; having it pressed to his chest.

''What did the old man want?'' the Slytherin Heir demanded in a soft voice that only annoyed him further.

''He probably wanted to catch me in some sort of trouble so that he could give me detention. It's quite strange how much disliking he holds against me.''

Tom frowned as a puzzled expression crossed his face before it darkened and the wand he held against him was pressed further that it was now causing him pain. ''Try that again?''

Harry grinned despite the slight discomfort of the wand.

''Well, you never specified what old man you were referring to,'' he retorted cleverly. ''I was talking about the school's caretaker. That old man has always taken a special liking in finding a way to make life miserable; reminds me a lot of you now that I come to think of it.''

The other boy's face was blank for a second before it cracked into a smile and a melodic laughter escaped the Slytherin Heir's lips. Harry despised that laughter; it always made him feel like he'd missed the pun on some sort of joke even if it were him that had told it in the first place.

Tom withdrew his wand and retreated to his seat with an amused expression. ''I don't know whether or not I should be flattered that you compared me to the caretaker seeing as you seem to take a certain interest in old men – ah, _especially _one old man named Albus Dumbledore that you saw earlier today. Now, darling, what was that little meeting about?''

Damn. He was trapped. Harry glared at the satisfied boy sitting in front of him.

The Slytherin Heir shot him a dazzling smile. ''And don't spare me the details.''

**Ginny's POV**

She felt like she was to drop dead any second. Flying with intense speed in the middle of the rain with sleep deprivation wasn't one of her brighter ideas but she knew that if she continued to make up reasons for why she couldn't show up for Quidditch Practice that Katie Bell, the seventh year Captain for Gryffindor, would eventually have to kick her out. Even if Ginny was one of their best players now that her twin brothers, Alicia, Angelina and Harry were gone it still didn't make up for how her flying skills were lacking without sleep.

Ginny was frustrated, mostly at herself but also over the fact that she hadn't come near a resolution of where Harry had ended up. She knew that Dumbledore, her parents, the ministry and even the Order of the Phoenix were working on where he was but she felt agitated that with so many people looking they still hadn't found anything yet. Weren't some of these people the most powerful amongst us? If they hadn't figured it out in four months' time, who would?

_I will,_ she promised herself fiercely. She'd done the most she could without getting Ron or Hermione suspicious of what she was up to. Ron, being caught up with worry about Harry, was too distraught to see through her glamour charm. If she was acting too on edge he just assumed that it was the OWLs coming up this year that caused her mood switch.

She scoffed miserably to herself as she flew higher up in the air and Katie yelled out instructions for the days practice. Ron's oblivion to how she worked as a person was one of the reasons of how she'd nearly ended up dying at the Chambers of Secrets in her second year. Nobody really knew who she was or how to read her; they still seemed to see her as that fragile, shy little girl from before. They didn't see the cunning, out-spoken and athletic woman she was growing to be. The closest to her was her twin brothers. Fred and George seemed to truly see her for who she was and they accepted whenever she was going through phases of developing her character. For two enthusiastic, crazy-looking and wild people they were incredibly gentle and patient with her.

A teeny tiny bit of her hoped that maybe it was for their absence this year that explained that feeling of a lost finger and not Harry. But Ginny wasn't foolish enough anymore to dwell on that false hope, she knew better. Somehow the Golden boy had done something to her and she'd figure out what it was.

''Oi, Weasley!'' McLaggen yelled and a bludger was sent her way in the highest of speed.

She managed to avoid it just in time and shot the boy a nasty look in which he responded with an obnoxious smirk. She would get him back for trying that.

**SPSPSP**

At the end of practice both she and McLaggen were halting to the changing rooms; their bodies were covered with bruises and broken nails. They'd gone to extreme with hitting each other with bludgers and knocking the air of each other as soon as they'd gotten the opportunity. Ginny wouldn't lie, it'd been a relief to somehow take the anger and frustration she'd felt out on something. The boy himself just saw it as some type of competitive game and Ginny would let him think of it as he liked. At the end of the day she'd gotten herself a personal piñata.

''Ginny!'' a voice called on her as she emerged from the changing rooms with Katie and the new Seeker that had replaced Harry; Amanda Cynebald. The girl was fairly good and classified as a talented player. They'd been lucky to have found her in his absence.

She recognized Hermione's wild curls bouncing as she ran towards her and Ginny turned instantly alarmed as she had been avoiding the others company. The only ones that seemed to have caught on to her behavior was Hermione and Dumbledore. On occasions when she were sitting in the Great Hall for dinner she noticed a pair of eyes analyzing her and as she looked up she caught those twinkling blue eyes of the headmaster. The old man would always brush it away with a polite smile and she'd respond with one of her own but she couldn't help but find it a bit unsettling at times, especially when it'd seemed to happen a lot more often these past weeks than it had earlier.

Hermione —to no one's surprised— had noticed something was off with her right away. Ginny hadn't known what the girl knew so she'd made an effort to keep her distance. At last Hermione made a comment about how it was okay to grieve someone you still loved; insinuating that Ginny was still head over in heels in love with Harry but was still 'hiding' it. It was disappointing. Hermione was intelligent but she, like everyone else, was stuck under the impression that she was still infatuated by the boy. A pity, since if it had been someone to figure out what Ginny was going through it would probably have been Hermione. Maybe the girl's own grief was clouding her judgment to see clearer.

Now as Hermione was running up to her she just felt like hiding. It wasn't that she didn't like the other girl, she truly did love her like a somewhat sister, but the annoying routine of sympathetic looks and comforting smiles made Ginny want to tear her hair out. Why not put that brain to use and see her for who she was? Had she truly been that pathetic, that flat for people to be treating her like they did?

It was tiring to constantly have to try and prove yourself to people who thought they had an established sense of who you were because as soon as you showed them your true characteristics they would think it was unlike you when it's indeed the true you.

''Hi, Katie,'' Hermione greeted the Captain and then turned to Amanda Cynebald with a warm smile. ''I'm glad you made the team, Mads. How did it go today?''

The younger girl spoke enthusiastically in response to the older girl and Ginny couldn't help but smile. She was usually a bit quiet on the field as opposed to now.

When Amanda and Hermione had finished talking the curly haired girl turned towards her. ''Ginny, could you follow me to the library? I think I need a book you could help me find.''

Inwardly Ginny groaned. The library? She couldn't stay there for five minutes without tapping her feet, procrastinating or whatever that could make her get kicked out. And she didn't buy it for one second that there was a book in the world that Hermione 'couldn't find'.

''Of course,'' she replied despite her suspicious thoughts and followed Hermione back warily.

They made small-talk on their way back speaking of general things like school and what an asshole McLaggen was. Ginny noticed how they were both tip-toeing around things like Ron, the Order, Dumbledore and whatever that could lead to the subject of Harry. It was an unusual atmosphere she'd never had with Hermione which only made her tense more. Something was off; there was no logic in Hermione Granger —the brightest witch of her year— to ask Ginny Weasley, dyslexic short-tempered red head, to find a book in the school's library (which Hermione probably had read every book there was in there, anyway).

The grass was oozing with leftover rain which caused slippery mud upon the road back, making their shoes muddy and dirty. The librarian would kill them for entering like this and ruining the carpet inside.

'''Mione, would you mind doing that cleaning spell before going in?'' she asked, too lazy to pull out her wand with the aching pain from practice all over her body. She'd rather stay in her dorm and attempt sleep but Hermione had been awfully insistent.

The curly head shook her head and gave her an apologetic glance. ''I forgot my wand up in the Tower,'' Hermione responded sheepishly. ''I'm sorry.''

Ginny fished up her own wand. Ugh, what was that spell now again? The sleep deprivation was really getting to her. She sighed and without a second thought she transfigured their shoes into temporary slippers, making the mud disappear.

She felt curious brown eyes stare up at her and she responded at Hermione's gaze with a raised eyebrow in question. ''What?''

''You did that so effortlessly,'' the older girl pointed out.

The conversation made Ginny uneasy so she attempted a lighter atmosphere. ''Oh, I'm sorry,'' she said in a joking manner. ''Would you have rather have me stand there for an hour with such a concentrated look on my face it appeared I needed the restroom?''

Hermione, not buying it, pestered on as they walked into the library. It was comfortingly warm inside and it smelled of different warm spices; probably from students hauling tea, coffee and whatnot.

''It's a complicated spell,'' the older girl insisted as they walked around the bookshelf's. Hermione appeared to be looking for that book she had yet to tell her what it even was.

Ginny sat down on a chair nearby, observing the other girl tiredly. This was tiring. If Hermione was with her every night talking like this then these sleep problems might fade away.

''I transfigured our shoes into _slippers_,'' she emphasized, ''it wasn't like it was brand new Witch Weekly's new designer shoes. You're overthinking it for some dumb reason I'm too uninterested to figure out.''

The older girl fixed her with a glare before she seemed to have found the book she'd been looking for amongst the shelves. Strangely enough, Hermione hesitated before approaching her.

Ginny regarded the other girl and she didn't know why, but she felt the need to say it. ''It was Harry who taught me the spell.''

It came out a lot more softly than she had intended. Hermione's head sharply turned to her and her eyes seemed unreadable for a bit. Now more surely, the girl approached her with confident steps before dumping the book she'd held in front of the table. Ginny peered forward to read the title.

The Arts of Glamour.

The redhead felt as if she had choked on air but quickly concealed any type of reaction from the bright Witch in front of her. Damn.

''Is this your way of saying I'm ugly?'' she joked once again in an attempt of escaping the horrendous situation she were in.

Hermione scoffed and slid into the stool in front of her. The older girl now held a small smile on her lips and a certain glint onto her eyes.

''You thought I hadn't noticed?''

She sighed, annoyed at where this would probably lead. She had probably figured out that Ginny was using glamour but it didn't mean she hadn't made wrong assumptions like she had earlier.

With an unnecessary soft tone, she spoke to Hermione slowly. ''Look, I know that this seems—''

''Don't patronize me in my own home,'' the curly head interrupted her with an arched brow, though a small smile quirked up on her lips. ''We're in the library, you ought to show more respect.''

There was a teasing tone with how she said it that only interested Ginny further.

Hermione quickly glanced around before throwing several charms around them that would protect whatever she was going to say from intruder's ears. Hadn't the girl just claimed that she'd forgotten her wand up in the Tower?

''I know that you've been using a glamour to cover up the side effect of your appearance from the sleep deprivation,'' Hermione said bluntly without any introduction or explanation.

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise but stayed quiet, observing the other girl as she did. She was taken aback and didn't know what to reply; here she'd been talking about people underestimating her all the time when she'd done that exact same thing to Hermione.

''I know the reason behind the sleep deprivation as well,'' she continued, although this time a bit more hesitantly.

The red head's eyes narrowed but decided to _think _now before responding. She had started doing that lately after being called out by Fred for being quick to judge people and always jumping to conclusions. It was something she was working on and luckily now she decided to act upon it.

Her first thought had been that Hermione probably still thought she had unrequited feelings for Harry and had brought her here to talk about how unhealthy it was to 'hide' her grief or something along those lines. But that didn't explain the tension Ginny had felt earlier. Hermione had spoken to her plenty of times about Harry thinking the younger girl were love with her best friend and she'd never felt the loaded atmosphere that was taking place now.

Something else was happening.

''Okay,'' Ginny then responded calmly. ''Tell me the reason behind my sleep deprivation.''

Hermione held her eyes steadily at the younger girl in front of her; she was clearly going to analyze however the redhead reacted to her claim.

''Harry.''

Maybe Fred was wrong after all, Ginny thought to herself. Her conclusions and judgements did turn out to be right for this instance.

Amused, the read head tilted her head to the side and regarded the girl in front of her. ''Okay.''

Confusion spread across Hermione's face and a few seconds later she found herself agitated.

''What do you mean by that?'' Hermione bit out and made no effort in hiding her frustration at the other girl's response. ''Ginny, I just found out what you've been hiding for the past four months and you don't have any other response to it than a mere 'okay'?''

Ginny moved her hands from her neck where she'd been massaging it from the neck pain as a yawn escaped her lips. ''I think my sleep deprivation is healed because I'm utterly tired of these claims of me being in love with Harry. You know what? I actually feel like sleeping now — excuse me.''

She made an attempt to get up from her chair but Hermione quickly moved up to grab a hold of her arm.

''I don't think you're in love with him anymore! I did, but I was told otherwise,'' the curly headed girl hissed desperately as she glanced around nervously for anyone to hear.

They weren't in a very secluded area in the library as there were a few students wandering around the shelves but because of the charms Hermione had put up they didn't seem to give them any attention whatsoever.

Ginny raised her eyebrows in question but didn't continue her attempt at leaving.

''Who told you otherwise?'' the younger girl asked curiously.

''There's a reason behind why I put up these charms.''

The Gryffindor Chaser leaned back on her chair patiently as if to say _'I've got time'_.

''Well, seeing as if you did your job right with the charms there is no reason not to tell,'' Ginny pressed.

Hermione nodded grudgingly, her eyes betraying that she didn't like where this conversation was going. ''I was informed by Professor Dumbledore that my, er, assumptions of your feelings for Harry might've been wrong after all.''

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not used to writing these characters so bear with me. I was desperate for some fanfiction with Tomarry including Ginny as Harry's love interest in it where she wasn't described as weak or whiny. Isn't it annoying how much people underestimate and misjudge Ginny's character? Do people forget that Ginny was written to be Harry's soulmate and equal? I feel like if people are to write Harry well it's an unwritten law for you to do the same for Ginny.

Also, before I get any comparisons — yes I adore Fate's Favorite and this was 100% heavily influenced by it. I just finished reading it and I might have that story too stuck in my head for it to be good for me to write anything else, but I don't care.

I love that story. I want to marry it. I didn't like how Ginny was written, though. I don't like how Ginny is written in most fiction to be honest, but maybe it's just me who view her too differently. I'm taking it upon myself to try and write her as I'd want to read her. Wish me luck :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Hermione's POV**

Ginny seemed fazed but after a moment had passed she yelped, ''_what?_''

The older girl hushed and urged her to be silent, more so for her own benefit than of fear that anyone else would take notice of them. Not that they would if her charms worked correctly; which, if she was being honest, they always did.

The Headmaster had told her that it wasn't needed to make mention of him if it wasn't absolutely necessary and with Ginny's attempt at leaving it had seemed to be the time to pull that card. She had now put herself in a difficult position and had to be smart of how she went about it. How did she explain that she had worked with Professor Dumbledore to find Harry behind the younger girl's back? Not only behind Ginny's back but also Ron's and most of the members in the Order as well.

_Hmph._ The mention of Ron quickly demolished her mood. Ever since Harry's disappearance he'd grieved and due to them always being alone they had gotten pretty close. Well, closer than they'd ever been before to be exact. Hermione blushed at the memories but reminded herself of his recent behavior. Ron had now distracted himself with any girl that would have him and his current one was Lavender Brown.

She couldn't stomach either of them when they were around each other. Therefor she'd gotten lonely without Harry or Ron anymore. The headmaster seemed to have noticed this and offered her to help him in his progress of finding Harry. Within a month's time they found Harry's location; 1942. It had surprised Hermione. He hadn't been lost or taken hostage by the Dark Lord or any of his followers. Harry hadn't fled either, which was something she had pondered on in her more depressing times. No, he was stuck with Voldemort's younger self — Tom Riddle.

She had been in a bit of denial at first and had asked the Headmaster to re-do the process again with the advance tracer spells and expensive potions from Pyrenees. Professor Dumbledore simply told her it would take another month to do the transaction and that they didn't have the time. He was right, of course. They had been lucky to see the blurry glimpse of Harry in a Slytherin tie with Tom Riddle.

Hermione remembered both of their reactions that had taken place a month ago when they'd seen the image. The old man's face had turned grim and she had been exasperated (''Slytherin? The Sorting Hat must've purposely done it so that he could keep a close eye on You-Kno— I mean _Voldemort,_ right, Professor? Professor!'').

After Dumbledore's reassurance she knew that some changes must have taken place during the summer for Harry to have been placed in Slytherin. Sirius' death must've changed him a lot more than any of them had thought. Hermione felt guilty; if she could've somehow prevented him for feeling whatever he'd felt to have changed his values enough to get into Slytherin then maybe he would already have been back by now. A nagging part of her brain told her that if Harry was stuck there for too long he would start to enjoy the younger Dark Lord's company. Maybe he wouldn't want to go back by the time they sent someone after him.

She suspected Dumbledore thought this too and that was why they had hurried and only taken a week to choose who to send back that would succeed their quest. This was when more people had gotten involved such as Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Professor Snape and McGonagall. Hermione knew Dumbledore had a few more people involved up his sleeve that she didn't know of, but as long as it all got along quickly she tried not to ask too many questions.

Whoever was going to get sent back was going to be greatly prepared; Kingsley Shacklebolt had forged old documents from the Ministry that would make it look like the person sent back with the papers already existed and would therefore not be suspected. Mad-Eye Moody would help them improve in the areas within the Dark Arts for a two week's deadline (Professor McGonagall and Hermione had both been against it but Dumbledore convinced them at the end, although not without difficulty). The Headmaster's reasoning for such training was how the social system worked back then in Slytherin. Knowledge was greatly appreciated there and to send whoever person back blindly with a bare back for future Death Eaters would be foolish. Secretly, Hermione had found herself thankful for not being the one sent back. The pressure was immensely high.

Amongst the last three people was Professor Snape who'd looked highly uninterested during the entire time Hermione had seen him. He was put up for the potions of disguising this person's appearance. And at last Hermione and Professor McGonagall had been working on the Time-Turner. Normally it could only send one person back for maximum of five hours without the possibility of serious injury for the traveler and expanding that time by over fifty years was hard work. Hermione had gotten a head-ache all week by the work put into it and while her Head of House was helping, it was tough.

Then it had come down to who to send back. Hermione couldn't leave — whoever was going to leave, if younger, had to get themselves sorted into Slytherin and a muggle-born in that time wouldn't bode well. Ron was out of the question since he would attempt to murder the younger version of Voldemort at first sight, and for some reason Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to trust any Order of the Phoenix members for this. Many didn't know of Voldemort's old identity as Tom Riddle and perhaps the old man wanted it kept that way for future happenings.

Personally she'd wanted it to be Remus Lupin. But then she remembered his grief for both Harry's disappearance and his old friend's death; she knew the man couldn't handle bringing Harry back as he struggled with his transformation as well.

And that's where Ginny Weasley came into the picture.

**Harry's POV**

Harry's shoulders were tense as he ate breakfast the next morning. The meeting with Dumbledore had been about another discussion of the situation of his time traveling. Once again he regretted having gone to the Deputy Headmaster when he'd first arrived. It had been out of instinct of course; he'd realized he had somehow gotten thrown back in time and desperately sought out the elder for help. He didn't know any other way he could've gone about it as he'd been panic-stricken and shocked. The only person he knew and trusted enough with such a large burden in 1942 had been Dumbledore.

The fact that the meeting had been about his time traveling had also made it so much harder to explain to Tom. The older boy didn't know yet of his true past (future?), although he had figured out a whole lot more. The tension between the two was zealous and Harry knew that a tiny slip of things and all his secrets would unravel.

It had him on edge that morning. He was also grumpy that Dennis Greengrass had deliberately hinted to Tom about his whereabouts when he had gone to meet with the old man. Even if he had gotten along best with Greengrass out of all the Slytherin Heir's little followers, he was reminded at times like these of where all of their loyalty really lied.

They could all get a long as good as they'd wanted but at the end of the day Harry truly didn't have anyone to trust.

''You're look dashingly bitter this morning, Harold,'' he heard a smug voice drawl. He glanced at where the voice had come from and saw Abraxas Malfoy take seat before him at the table.

As expected Draco's grandfather was an equally annoying company as the boy he himself had been.

''Really?'' Harry lazily replied, ''well, I was going for the infamous 'miserable Abraxas' look today. I guess it worked.''

Greengrass chuckled as Malfoy sneered in response. They sat at the Slytherin's table and it had eventually become a habit for Harry to sit with Tom's little range of followers. In the beginning he'd tried from refraining of it as much as he could which only seemed to make the older boy push further for him to sit with them. After yanking and pulling along with sneers and petty conflicts Harry had agreed to sit with them but only at breakfast.

It was the worst idea the previous Gryffindor could ever decide upon doing. To have to sit with the unfathomable little pets of Tom first thing in the morning caused him headaches. Harry hated mornings now more than ever.

''Don't mind Porter,'' Greengrass told the other blond boy that was still sour over Harry's jab at him. ''He's just bitter I caught him going against Tom's orders.''

''I don't take any orders from Tom,'' he mocked as he firmly put down his pumpkin juice.

''Yet.''

The familiar charismatic voice was enough for Harry to know who it was but the others reactions made it sure for him that it was the Slytherin Heir. It was quite funny how everyone around him had all immediately turned towards where the voice had come from as if in a trance.

As usual the tall, handsome boy sat next to Harry and he couldn't decide whether to be entertained because of Malfoy and Greengrass' envious looks or to be annoyed now that he'd probably be interrogated like any other lovely morning.

''Do refrain from looking so miserable; people might start to think you don't like being around my presence,'' Tom breezily said to him as he added porridge to his plate.

Harry rolled his eyes. ''Oh, we wouldn't want _that_, now would we?''

Alphard Black and Leonard Zabini joined the table at last and they both looked exhausted which wasn't a very unusual sight as they always slept in. Harry watched Alphard with a bit of unease; the boy looked so much like Sirius had when he was younger it had rattled him cold to the core at first. They had same good-looking features of the Blacks and the traces of laughter in their face together with the striking grey eyes and fair skin. When Greengrass had pointed out about his staring he had made up a lie of the other boy looking like an old friend of his in Durmstrang. They'd all bought it except for Tom (of course) and now every time he encountered the other it was like a walking reminder of his Godfather's death.

Tom hadn't confronted him about it yet but he knew it would take place sooner or later.

''I'm sure Harold just has his headache again,'' Abraxas Malfoy cut in effortlessly to somehow get off the attention of Harry. Not for Harry's sake but rather his _own_ so that everyone, including Tom, would pay more thought to him.

The Slytherin Heir simply raised his dark eyes briefly at the blond haired boy to acknowledge that he had heard him for then only to go back and address Harry once again. He barely held back from grinning when he saw Malfoy scorn at him for stealing the attention, but the satisfaction of it was short lived.

''Aren't those the headaches that are caused from that odd little scar of yours?'' Tom gracefully asked, a smirk forming on his lips as he saw Harry flinch.

He bit his tongue to hold back from snapping a rude remark and instead he put on a blank expression and stayed quiet. Harry kept on eating his toast like nothing at all. Everyone's eyes at the Slytherin table were turned towards them and there was no way this conversation would go well if he didn't evade from falling for the older boy's tricks.

''You know,'' Tom continued as if he'd responded to his previous question, ''you have never really told me about the story of how you got it.''

''For good reason,'' Harry bit out. ''It's nothing interesting about it.''

Tom gave him a look as if to say _'your definition of interesting is very different from mine'_.

''How did you get it?''

Leave it up to Tom Riddle not to prance around questions during breakfast. But the previous Gryffindor expected nothing less seeing as Breakfast was one the rare moments where Harry had agreed on willingly being around Tom. Otherwise it was a hide-and-seek situation with Harry avoiding the other and the older boy _always _finding him. He knew it was the future Dark Lord's little clique that probably hinted at Harry's locations all the time.

But Harry was prepared; he had come up with lies that would tell little information as possible to every question Tom would ask. So he said the lie with no effort as if he'd said it a thousand times before.

''When I was little I fell over and had a concussion.''

He felt the intense dark eyes watch him carefully. He was probably calculating his response over and over until he would find flaw within it but Harry had gone over it a thousand times to make sure it wouldn't. It was also felt a bit silly to go from _'I got it as a scar from a Dark Lord's attempt at murdering me'_ to _'I fell'_.

The atmosphere was cackling with heat and he could feel that the people around them still watching with the same awed manner. Tom leaned back nonchalantly as if he was completely comfortable and relaxed with the situation which the bastard probably _was_. Harry knew he enjoyed this; relished in seeing Harry fidget around his thoughts to slinger his way out his interrogations.

''Where did you fall down? It must have been an ugly incident for you to get such a scar,'' the alluring voice pressed on. Harry snapped his head toward the jet black haired boy and narrowed his eyes furiously. He was met with an amused expression from the older boy.

''The thing about concussions, _Tom_, is that you get a bit of a memory loss from it. I hardly remember anything from it all.''

Laughter. Harry still held deep resentment toward that laugh. It was even more pathetic how the people around them endeavored in that laugh; clinging to it as if it was a blessing. It made him uneasy, because how could one boy how such power over the others?

''I know plenty about concussions,'' Tom spoke at last, ''seeing as I've given you a fair shares of those. Or have you already forgotten that, love? You do seem a bit dense this morning.''

Harry gritted his teeth and hearing Zabini and Malfoy's chuckles finally drove him to the edge.

''IT HAPPENED ONE TIME!''

A deadly silence fell over the Great Hall as his furious yell echoed around the walls. Everyone's head was now turned toward them and a few whispers arose. Even the Professors at the front simply stared and made no attempt to say or do anything. Harry could feel Dumbledore's curious eye at him which prickled his anger further.

He stood up and saw how Black and Zabini also rose; glancing at Tom for instructions whether or not to stop him. Harry nearly scoffed. They'd have a damn nerve to try and touch him now. Sirius' look-a-like or not, in a mood like this the boy would destroy Alphard Black in a fight and take Zabini with him.

At last the Slytherin Heir waved his hand dismissively which made the two followers sit down, but they still had their eyes on the younger boy warily. He made his way to move towards the doors but a sharp hand shot out and held him in his place.

Harry watched as Tom stood up slowly and his height caught up with him. Riddle was tall, a bit taller than him which annoyed him at times such as these.

''Don't make a fuss,'' he said smoothly to him, and although Tom's voice betrayed nothing his eyes held a warning glint to it. ''Walk with me.''

Tom walked by Harry and reluctantly he followed after him. All eyes followed them until they were out of the doors of the Great Hall — Harry could practically hear how the voices of gossip exploded a soon as they had left.

As Harry tried to sneakily watch Tom's expression in front of him as they walked to the halls he could in essence see how Tom added 'scar' as a touchy subject of Harry's on his mental list about the younger boy. He would use it against him. Harry could only blame himself that he'd let the other boy figure out another weakness of his as he shouldn't have reacted so erratically.

Tom, of course, seemed to know what Harry always thought as he brought that up.

''It isn't wise for you to lose your temper in such way in front of the others. They'll view you as weak.''

Harry frowned and halted in the middle of the hall. Why should he even trust to follow the boy? He didn't even know where they'd been going.

''From your implication earlier I think they already do now,'' he responded coolly. ''And I seem to remember you getting a rather large bruise at the side of your head at the end of that duel.''

Tom smiled wickedly at him as he was clearly not taking Harry's anger fully seriously. ''I do remember although, I never expected you to be so insecure in your abilities for you lash out so suddenly.''

Harry scoffed. ''I'm not insecure. I just don't appreciate being portrayed as inferior to you.''

The Slytherin Heir didn't reply to that and simply stared at him in thought. He didn't like where this was going with the look the older boy seemed to have. He noticed how the other also neither agreed nor disagreed with the statement of him being inferior to him. Harry wondered what went through that mind of his; he hated how he had lost once again. Tom had gotten one over him. He truly hated breakfast and he knew how much the other boy enjoyed it as he seemed to have had become a morning person ever since.

He got a headache simply by standing next him (and no, it wasn't because of the scar). All the planning, scheming and _thinking_ was too much for him. How could he even remotely change Tom's behavior of becoming a Dark Lord when he couldn't even control a situation like this from happening?

''I could train you if you're that unsure of your magical capabilities.''

Harry's head shot up in hearing what the other had said. He looked at the other boy and was met with an expression that didn't reveal anything. Typical.

''It's actually funny how you still insist on me being insecure,'' he said.

Tom tilted his to the side. ''Denial has never been very flattering on you.''

''You know what?'' he snapped at last and Harry could feel the heat rising to his face, ''I'm not speaking to you anymore. Good luck finding someone else to pester with your short-sighted, aggravating analyzing habits.''

Harry turned his back against the older boy and started walking away.

''You can come find me again when you've stopped dwelling into your insecure, miserable and self-loathing ways. I'm pretty used to it by now, actually.''

_Dumb annoying mini-Dark Lord that always has to have the last word,_ Harry thought furiously as he stomped away from the smirking Slytherin Heir.

**Dumbledore's POV**

The old man knew it would become a very interesting and productive day when Miss Granger arrived with a quite shaken Ginny Weasley in tow.

''She knows,'' was all Miss Granger confirmed hollowly as she sat down and would refuse to look the Headmaster in the eye. Interesting.

He peered at the younger girl; her expression was rather puzzled as if a thousand thoughts were running through her head. He wasn't very content with how the girl had found out as he would've much rather preferred to have spoken to her himself but he knew Miss Granger was a clever girl. The situation must've been vital for her to have told her in such way for Weasley to react like that.

''How are you holding up, child?'' he softly asked the girl sitting in front him. She looked a lot like she'd done when Harry had brought her to him and her family after the Chamber of Secrets incident. So frail and delicate, but he wouldn't let himself be fooled. He'd observed the girl for weeks now. He'd set up innocent enough trials through the school to see how well her magic's reflexive skills would respond to it (like a stair suddenly turning into a flat surface or a lamp falling upon her). It was innocent enough and the walls of the school had whispered how she'd done well enough to him. He knew his limits and that he couldn't push further without suspicion arising, so he had to wait for the trials she'd have with Alastor.

He truly hoped for her to succeed. There was greatness in her; the true spirit of Gryffindor. That was mostly what the old man had noticed — what had set her very far apart from Harry. The boy was spectacular, yes, but in a sense of not having been categorized into anything. He was his own definition. Grey; neither Light nor Dark. Harry was still not fully sure of himself or of who he was and what he was supposed to be. Tom Riddle would take advantage of the immense wave of conflicted feelings Harry was going through and that's why the boy would need someone who was firm, an obstacle that would prevent Harry from going fully dark; someone that would keep him grey.

Someone who had been questioned their whole life of who they were that they now knew all the questions. A person who had an established sense of themselves after being their own worst critic, he needed someone who had come in terms with who they were.

The old man had been able to have two options to choose from; Ginevra Weasley or Remus Lupin.

His old student had been an unsure and shaky chance to have gone with as Lupin wasn't particularly stable. The man was currently fighting with his own demons, both mentally and physically. He also knew that the only thing keeping that man sane right now was his relationship with Nymphadora Tonks and they could hardly send two people back in time. They'd a limited usage of the Time-Turner. Dumbledore's own preferable and final decision had been Weasley. The only thing that had kept him unsure was her previous traumatic experience with Tom Riddle. He guessed her shaking form right now was the reason for it. She had struggled with PTSD (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder) severely after her second year.

The younger version of Voldemort had left her quite scarred and revisiting old demons would be hard for her to say the least. But he knew, with Alastor's training, that she'd get tougher. It would become a nightmare for her. He knew it would. But the Headmaster convinced himself that she couldn't have Tom Riddle as her weakness. How could she if she'd eventually had to come to face him at last?

He looked at Ginevra now and she had still not answered his question.

''Child?'' he tried again, keeping his voice at the same soft tone as earlier.

Dumbledore stared in mild surprise as startling chilled eyes turned to look back at him.

The words that she uttered were so sharp and crisp that he wondered if it was him she was really directing the words to or if she was imagining someone else in her head.

''Do not call me a _child_,'' the red head demanded coldly.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so nervous about writing Tomarry, they are the hardest part for me. Their dialogue comes very easily for me but when it comes to fleshing it out I'm completely lost. I hope I did okay? I'm more than willing to take any criticism that would help me develop them.

Also, no, 'Porter' is not an error. Harold Porter is Harry's identity in 1942.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Harry Potter as I'm not the author, all rights goes to J.K Rowling and Warner Bros._

* * *

**Ginny's POV**

She was shocked, frozen and instantly had trouble to breathe at the mention of _him_. The boy that had ruined her life; he had been the reason they'd decided to put her through several meetings with nuns and therapists. His face had appeared as her Boggart form in third year and everyone around her had been confused as if why a normal, charming looking boy was her worst fear. They didn't see that glint in his eyes, that's why. They hadn't seen the dark, alluring look that had led her to her near death.

Tom Riddle. That name was as filthy to her as the Cruciatus Curse.

''Are you ready to face him, Miss Weasley?'' the old man repeated to her, and she noticed how he'd purposely avoided to mention his name this time. ''We wouldn't ask of you to do this if your mental health will be in too much of a risk.''

Ginny took a deep breath, just like her psychiatrist Mrs. Loore in the St Mungo's institute had advised her to do when she felt the anxiety bubbling up. She tried to collect her thoughts; try to make sense of the jumble mess of everything she'd heard. It was so hard to grasp the reality of it all even when Hermione had told her and somehow it seemed even more so when she heard the Headmaster repeating it.

Harry was stuck in 1942 with Tom Riddle. He'd been sorted in Slytherin; and she was being asked to be the one to go back and bring him home.

She couldn't say no. How could she? Dumbledore wouldn't ask this of her if he had another option, she knew that. Hermione had seemed reluctant as well when telling the younger of the quest which proved further that she was, for some reason, the only choice. Ginny knew that it was at times like these that she could choose to be selfish. Mrs. Loore always told her it was necessary to sometimes think about yourself before others. It was how she'd gotten out of her quiet shell in third year. She'd always been quiet as she'd thought taking too much space would deprive others from it but as she stopped dwelling so much of what others felt and did she spoke more and demanded a spot for her to shine.

Of course, too much of selfishness was never good. Although now would be the perfect opportunity for that little taste of egoistical thinking. She could just say no — but she wouldn't.

The thing with Ginny was that even if she was an incredible hot-head at times she _cared _immensely. She cared too much of Harry as a friend to not take this chance for him and she held too much respect for Dumbledore and Hermione to decline their hard work.

But did she love herself enough to not revisit the old demons? Ginny suddenly remembered all those meeting at St Mungo's. The sterile, yellow wallpapers that were supposed to offer comfort and the hospitalized smell of sickness and death flashed as quick memory details in her mind. All the hours spent there trying to help the traumatized memories of the Chambers of Secret.

Nobody except her parents and twin brothers knew of her meetings. Sometimes it would've gone so bad in there with Mrs. Loore —the times when she'd hallucinated Tom outside the door with the pale skin and looming eyes; taunting her— that she wouldn't leave the yellow room. She'd sleep on the floor as she wouldn't invite any other feeling than the cold. That was when Fred followed by George had come in and put a blanket around her. Her mother had brought them.

They stayed the whole night, making up jokes and inviting a secret language that _he_ wouldn't understand if she saw him again in her dreams. They had been with her the whole time. And eventually she'd gotten better that when she started her third year, she was doing okay. She still had her PTSD (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder) that the Headmaster had been informed of as she would require special curtains for her bed to dull the scream caused by her nightmares. But the meetings with her psychiatrist became more irregular. She got closer to Fred and George and they let her trudge along on their adventurous. Ginny started becoming happier.

Then she saw Tom as her Boggart form and it all went downhill. She started at square on again; back at the yellow room. If she saw him in 1942 would the same thing happen again as it had then? Would she be back in that yellow room? She wouldn't see him as hallucinations this time. He would be real.

Unconsciously she summoned her anxiety ball with her wand and started squeezing it to calm down. When she caught Dumbledore's questioning look she explained.

''It's my anxiety ball,'' she muttered absently, ''it eases my stress.''

''Ah,'' the old man nodded empathetically.

Ginny glanced around the Headmaster's office. She hadn't been there for quite a while and nearly forgot how spectacular it was. The office was a large, circular room with walls covered with portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses. Odd little instruments were hanging from the ceiling with objects puffing out smoke. Further down she spotted an old wooden desk with a shabby looking wizarding hat — the Sorting Hat. She wondered where the Sorting Hat would place her if it thought differently of Harry now than it had in his first year.

Ginny could feel the others eyes on her so she turned to meet Hermione and Dumbledore's piercing looks.

''I don't know,'' she answered at last at the Headmaster's previous question. ''I don't know if I'm ready to face To—_him_ yet.''

She could feel the silence in the room settling into an engulfing clock, counting down the final settlements of her next words.

''But,'' she continued, knowing what she said hereafter meant, ''I'm willing to learn how to be.''

Dumbledore's lines in his face perked up as he smiled. The old man exchanged a fleeting look with Hermione until his eyes settled at the red head. Whatever she'd said it appeared to have been the right answer judging by their pleased expressions.

''It seems, Miss Weasley,'' the Headmaster said, and she noticed how he evaded from calling her 'child' this time, ''that you're ready for your training.''

''There are still questions I need answers to,'' she quickly insisted.

And there was. Hermione hadn't told her why she'd been the one chosen for this or how she'd deal with leaving her real life here when she was gone. Would she tell her family? Did she get to skip the OWLs? What about Quidditch?

''All in good time, my dear,'' the old man retorted calmly. ''I think I speak for all of us when I say it's been quite a day and that we all need to rest and arrive for dinner. Now, off you go.''

Both Ginny and Hermione stood up and headed for the doors, but before exiting the younger girl cast a glance back at the Headmaster. He was now petting the Phoenix and was humming on a tune. Ginny noticed how he suddenly was in an awfully good mood.

**Harry's POV**

As Harry sat at the common room working at his boring History of Magic assignment, he couldn't help but feel intrigued as he observed Tom. He had kept to his word and hadn't spoken to the older boy and to his bewilderment —and suspicion— the Slytherin Heir hadn't forcefully approached him in any way. This was unlike him and the younger boy was agitated of his strange behavior. Not that he wasn't relieved that Tom had finally left him alone, he was. He'd gotten the most peaceful hours to himself ever since he'd gotten here in 1942. But that alone was a red sign, because Tom Riddle _never_ listened to when Harry Potter told him off.

If he ever ignored Tom it always led to the other boy provoking Harry until he finally exploded. Because of that he couldn't shake the feeling of this being another tactic that the older boy had up his sleeve. There was no way that he'd so suddenly have a change of heart (if he now had one, that is) and give in to leave Harry alone. This had been precisely what he'd wanted at the beginning. Why now only give in to his wishes after four months?

Harry held a close look at Tom. Saying that he wasn't fascinated with the younger Dark Lord's interaction with other people would be a blatant lie. Harry spent so much time bickering, ignoring and power-playing with the boy that he barely saw or gave much thought to how he interacted with the other students. He knew, of course, that because of Tom's little act of being the perfect student that everyone seemed to luxuriate in his presence.

He'd encountered glimpses of that behavior whenever he'd first arrived. An example being at dinner; just Tom walking in to the Great Hall changed the whole atmosphere as he had brought every single eye towards him by just being present at the room. Whenever he spoke it became even worse as people seemed to drink up his words like nectar and would do anything for him to level a quick glance their way.

It mortified Harry how much subtle of control the older boy had over the entire school because it explained of how he'd later on succeed in the future of becoming a Dark Lord. That's why Harry had always defied him publicly in the first couple of months; to try and strip off the hold he seemed to have over the students. But it had backfired at Harry as Tom had taken an interest in his dislike and opposition of him. It had made the boy very curious of Harry which he hadn't understood why. Harry had overheard a conversation once of a few seventh years in Ravenclaw subtly hinting towards their dislike against the Slytherin Heir, which had proved to him that not everyone idolized Tom.

So why had the older boy cancelled out just Harry — making him his priority of converting him?

Harry's eyes followed the future Dark Lord as he sat down with Cygnus Black, Druella Rosier and the Slytherin Captain Winky Crockett. It was as if Tom had a magnetic force because as soon as he'd sprawled nonchalantly across his seat they instantly drew to him and hastily spoke over each other to entertain him as well as trying to make themselves noticed. Harry closely watched Tom's face.

The older boy's handsome features was relaxed and held the tiniest bit of enjoyment at seeing the others around him struggle to keep up just to please him. But as he looked closer Harry could see the traces of boredom on the surface and that the boy wasn't really paying attention to whatever Druella Rosier was saying. He seemed disinterested and just simply... _bored_, as if a daily chore was being done.

Harry tilted his head to the side; he was now more fascinated than anything by the other's behavior. He'd never really paid attention to Tom when he wasn't around him —mostly because he never got the opportunity to _not_ be around the boy— and now that he was, he was curious.

He'd never seen the boy wear that look around him, the look of pure disinterest. He thought back of the times Greengrass or Malfoy interacted with Tom. Did he wear that expression then as well? Quick memories flashed before Harry. No. The disinterest was still present, but definitely not as strong as it were now with the seventh year Slytherin's.

Harry turned to look closer at the Slytherin Heir when suddenly those blazing black eyes caught his gaze. Crap. He saw as the smug look crossed Tom's face and he narrowed his eyes grimly in response before turning back to his History of Magic assignment.

He felt the cackling satisfaction of magic emerging from the other boy and he gritted his teeth in annoyance. Of course Tom would take self-indulgence from catching Harry staring at him. He probably thought Harry was considering his 'training' offer.

Harry scoffed. As if. Just knowing how smug the boy would be if he came up and accepted it made him want to strangle himself.

''I've always known Professor Binns classes caused some people to have suicidal thoughts,'' a voice sauntered playfully, ''I just never knew his assignments held the same effect.''

Harry looked up and saw Alphard Black walking towards his corner surrounded by piles of books, quills and parchment.

Instinctively a grin quirked up the corner of Harry's lip as for a second his brain had identified the boy in front of him as Sirius. When reality caught up with him, the grin died slowly.

He hated seeing Alphard for this reason. The boy just constantly tugged and twisted the knife in his heart that the death of his godfather had left.

''Please, no need for the overwhelming joy of seeing me,'' he pointed out as he clearly noticed the shift in Harry's behavior from happy to looming.

In response Harry put on a plastered smile. ''I'm just tired, it's all. This assignment is bringing out the worst in me.''

Alphard sat down next to him and without invitation grabbed his parchment to view his work. With a concentrated look he skimmed through the text.

''It's not bad, although it can definitely improve,'' he said eventually when he'd finished reading and handed over the parchment back to him. ''I can help you with it.''

''I'll manage,'' Harry denied and turned back to his work.

''I get the feeling that you don't like me very much.''

He wasn't surprised by the blunt way Black approached the subject he'd awaited to show up. Alphard was in Slytherin, after all. There was no tip-toeing around conflicts like these he had learned. With pure-blood families, if someone had a problem they'd show or tell you it candidly. That way you'd know who to protect your back from.

He knew that with the way he'd so openly gotten along with most of Tom's other followers and had excluded Alphard that this confrontation would take place. It wasn't fair how he avoided the other Slytherin but so wasn't Sirius death as well. Nothing was fair, and he wouldn't pretend as if anything were.

He was also aware that one of the reasons Alphard wanted Harry to like him was because of Tom. For the past four months Harry had favored Greengrass' company of all the Slytherin's. He didn't know why but the witty brunette had grown on him as he had spent his time in the 1940's. Dennis' family was a part of one of the very, very few wizarding families in Slytherin that didn't hold the extreme belief of pure-blood supremacy. Harry distinctively remembered Daphne Greengrass' little sister, Astoria, befriending a Hufflepuff in her first year.

Maybe it had been why he tolerated the boy over the others in Tom's clique. If Dennis Greengrass was a possible grandfather to the girl he must've had an impact of not furthering down the prejudice in his family for her to turn out like she did. Either way, Harry's favoring of Dennis had resulted in the boy becoming closer to the Slytherin Heir. Harry knew Tom only did so to somehow prove that whatever friend Harry made they would all still prefer the younger Dark Lord's presence over his. It'd annoyed him that Tom had done so but he eventually got over it. In the end the older boy granted him a favor of reminding him that he couldn't trust anybody in the dungeons of snakes.

At the thought of dungeons of snakes Harry turned to Alphard. The boy awaited a reply from him.

'_I get the feeling that you don't like me very much.'_ The words repeated themselves as an echo in his head.

''Well,'' Harry simply said at last, ''I don't really like any of you, do I?''

To his surprise the boy didn't scowl or sneer at him which was something someone like Abraxas Malfoy would've done. Instead the black haired boy tilted his head back and laughed heartedly. It wasn't the same barking laugh Sirius had which eased the aching knife tugged in his heart. Rather the laugh was warm and calming. A small smile danced at Harry's lips at the sound of it.

''It's a pity you feel that way,'' Alphard confessed, his grey eyes seemingly uplifted now. ''It'd be quite a liberty to have someone around with such bluntness.''

''Would it, now?'' Harry mused, holding a mischievous gleam to his own eyes. ''You should stop kissing my arse so much, Tom might get resentful by the lack of adoration you're sending his way in place of mine.''

Looking at the ruffled hair boy in front of him Harry finally began to see the differences between Sirius and Alphard. As the Slytherin grinned he didn't hold the wolfish streak that his godfather had in his grin. Instead the boy had the usual smug look that many Slytherin's wore. There probably was endless of differences between the two, Harry had just been too consumed by his grief that he never let the boy too close to see them.

Alphard posture seemed a lot more comfortable now than before; he probably acknowledging the way Harry's approval of him grew.

''Perhaps you're confusing adoration with enthrallment. I'm only trying to befriend you,'' the boy admitted sincerely at last.

Harry observed him. Alphard body language was at ease as he was playing with a few of Harry's quills that were spread out across the floor. His broad shoulders were relaxed and the usual stormy eyes were smooth. But Harry could tell from his demeanor that he was only portraying the calmness and was probably a bit unnerved by his stare.

Harry was no fool; he knew that a huge impact of the Slytherin wanting to befriend him was because of Tom. They all thought that getting his approval would bring them closer to the future Dark Lord, which he didn't see the logic in. Whenever Tom and Harry interacted with each other in front of his clique they were often arguing. Where did they get the impression of their leader even liking him? If anything they should think that befriending Harry would anger Tom, especially now that he was no longer speaking to the Slytherin Heir.

For being a smart boy Alphard and the rest of the Slytherin's were foolish around the subject of Tom as all of them were blinded by their loyalty and devotion to him — desperate to do anything that would get them closer to the powerful future Dark Lord.

Harry could use that weakness to his advantage.

''Befriend? You're certainly not one to stop at first name basis,'' Harry joked dryly at last as he was viewing Black with a predator mannerism.

He saw Alphard tense and the previous Gryffindor felt a twinge of regret using the boy in his wicked game, but quickly demolished any guilt. He wasn't a Gryffindor anymore and couldn't afford to think or act like one.

''I guess I'm not,'' the boy then agreed steadily, but Harry saw the hesitation crossing the others face.

The elegant features of Alphard were stiff and he looked as if it had dawned on him that he might've underestimated the cost of Harry's 'friendship' and was now unsure of his decision. Harry smirked. The Heir of the House of Black had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

He might win this round between him and Tom after all.

**Tom's POV**

The Slytherin Heir was bored beyond saving as he listened to Druella Rosier's blabber. The seventh year girl was what others would deem attractive; silvery blonde hair, full lips and a pointy nose. A nose that was simmering too much in others business, he thought, judging by the hours she could gossip about the whole student body.

But it was gossip that would come in handy someday. He was in no means obliged to please her or the rest of her stupid little range of friends. If he wanted something of them he'd get it. Nevertheless, he was resourceful enough to know that the most devoted followers wasn't forced by hand but rather gained by charm and deception. And Tom Riddle was _very_ charming and deceiving.

So that was what he was doing, fulfilling his daily chores in a way as he simply amused the petty little gang. It barely took him a few minutes of airy conversation to make their whole evening, seeing as his mere presence got them all weak on their knees. Winky Crockett, the Slytherin Captain that seemed to have gotten too many bludgers aimed at his head enthusiastically spoke about his upcoming Quidditch game. He knew the muscular boy hoped for him to show up and therefor slyly mentioned it. It was amusing to see such a large builded boy act like a child in his presence.

Druella Rosier seemed to forget all about her boyfriend Cygnus Black sitting beside her as she leaned into him a little too close whenever she spoke, but as predicted Cygnus Black didn't seem to mind — whatever got him in favor of the Slytherin Heir could make him sell out his girlfriend for something as frivolous a latter up in the social scale in Slytherin.

Tom found them all distasteful. They'd happily brag about how they'd spent time with him; earning the jealousy by the others that weren't granted the same opportunity.

It was pathetic.

But who weren't these days? Everyone fell for his persuasion and charisma sooner or later. The ones who'd resisted the most were those who had ended up as his most faithful followers. Abraxas and Dennis, he remembered with amusement, hadn't been very fond of him first. It took him barely a month before their defiance was broken and shattered and now they were his most precious of toys to play with whenever he got bored. The same tune sang with Leonard and Alphard, though they'd been less reluctant of joining him.

That was the thing; as much as one told themselves they despised his ways, _hated _him even, there was a part of them that still found him mesmerizing. They were all snakes and he held the flute that controlled them, the flute that hypnotized and could control every inch of a bone in their body. The flute that worked on all snakes — all except one.

Harold Porter.

The messy black-haired boy remained a mystery to him. Just like his Killing Curse green eyes, he was deadly. Tom had encountered several duels with him and he was impressed. Nobody impressed the Slytherin Heir. The magical strength radiated from the boy and when he'd commented on it, Harold simply shrugged it off as it being a result by his intense training in Durmstrang.

Tom knew when people were lying and Harold Porter was an exquisite liar in the finest of forms. For some reason Harry (as he liked to call him which the other boy detested) had lied about his heritage the first time he'd spoken to him. He'd claimed he was a mudblood as if he expected Tom to lose interest in him by this statement. He hadn't as it only furthered his interest more and eventually Harry slipped out a comment of his true heritage during one of their more intense fights.

He'd asked why he'd lied and the boy murmured pathetically of some rubbish about testing him; too see if he held the same prejudice against mudbloods as he'd heard all Slytherin's did.

As Tom had scrutinized the boy with his callous look he determined that there was truth in the boy's statement but also lies tangled together within it. It was Harry's expertise to tell the truth and mix it in with lies, because in that way Tom couldn't fully catch him where he wanted. Harry was hiding information — he knew something about Tom that the Slytherin Heir wasn't even sure he even knew himself.

He'd find the boy staring at him at times; bitterness, anger, confusion and anguish all radiating from those emerald eyes. How could a stranger hold such personal feelings towards him? He had never met the boy before and he'd rummage through is brain for signs of people Harry could potentially know. There was no one. Those meetings with Albus Dumbledore added to the mystery about him, as well.

None of them had mentioned the dark, intense atmosphere that hung between them. He personally needed more solid proof to pin-point what he suspected before addressing it. Harry knew, and he himself knew. There was unfinished business between them, business that Tom didn't even know the full details about and it infuriated him. Until then they both kept each other on their toes — power-playing and trying to convert the others morals.

But sooner or later, Tom would find out whatever Harold Porter was hiding. He always did.

Half-listening to Druella, Cygnus and Winky's conversation he let his eyes skim through the common room. That was when his eyes locked with Harry's.

A smug look crossed his face as he saw the boy narrow his eyes at him. With a prideful snort, the boy returned to his work as if he'd never even looked at him to begin with. _Stubborn little lion,_ Tom mused to himself. He always tried to hold on to his righteousness whenever they'd argued.

The Slytherin Heir knew that Harry would rather jump from the Astronomy Tower than to approach Tom first at times like these. It always ended up with him going forward and getting things back on track. Except this time, this time he'd changed tactics and he was sure he'd win.

Until someone interfered.

With irritation he watched as Alphard approached the more cunning Slytherin. As their conversation elaborated he could see that his follower was falling right into the palm of Harry's little schemes. It took one look at Harry to catch the predator sheen hiding behind his glasses to understand.

Harry was going to use whatever blind loyal Alphard held to him for his own beneficial benefit. It was times like these he was thankful for his analyzing abilities.

His magic cackled with soothing fury begging to unleash. He clicked his tongue to the roof of his lips; a habit he'd developed for whenever he was in the process of calming his demeanor. He'd never counted on Harry interacting with the youngest heir of the House of Black. From the beginning he'd noticed the way he'd flinch whenever he saw Alphard. The dark-haired Slytherin triggered Harry of some sort of unpleasant memory so that had left Black unnecessary to work on as he did with his other followers.

For some idiotic reason the fools thought that getting close to Porter would get them in good with him, so for the most insecure targets as Malfoy or Greengrass he'd given special treatment to remind them of their loyalty to him. Zabini, the more sensible of the bunch, had too much pride to ever suck up to Harry in order for some extra points with the Slytherin Heir.

Black? It had seemed he'd gotten desperate enough to go down that route.

His magic must've felt stronger in the others atmosphere than he thought because now Druella Rosier was fidgeting nervously and Cygnus Black had stopped talking, instead following Tom's gaze to his own brother. Even the doofus Winky Crockett had shut up.

''Is there something bothe—'' Cygnus had begun mildly but got interrupted by his icy, rippling voice.

''Alphard,'' he called out coldly.

His voice had been in a formal, conversational tone but seemed to freeze the whole common room. He saw the boy's shoulders tense at the mention of his name. When he turned around to face him all color had left his normally sun-kissed face.

''Yes?'' he answered weakly and he could hear the silent _'My Lord'_ hanging after his response.

A smile played on his lips and he was sure his dark eyes were glittering viciously at his follower.

''Why don't you come join me and your brother here?'' he said, his voice being enchanting and sweet. It was read as a pleasant suggestion for the others listening in the common room, but between them it was heard as a cold demand.

Tom let his eyes flicker momentarily on Porter. ''Harry there must not be a very entertaining company, seeing as he's held his clamp shut the whole day. Or maybe it's just me he's ignoring?''

He saw the flare of fury in the emerald eyes at the mention of the boy's nickname but Harry quickly seemed to regain himself.

''Of course,'' Alphard answered to his demand and stood up until a sharp hand shot out to keep the boy there.

Black watched nervously as Porter let out an effortless laugh, motioning to the boy to sit down again.

''I don't mind your presence,'' he lightly said with a genuine smile. Harry then looked straight at him with an equally as shivering glare. ''It's the presence of impeccable, manipulating jerks I can't stand.''

''It's a wonder how some people can stand to be around themselves, then,'' he spat back.

They both glared at each and he could feel the scintillating magic from them both threatening to lash out.

A cough was heard and they both averted their eyes to the source of the sound; Alphard. The boy stood there awkwardly and looked like he'd want nothing more than to disappear.

He gently removed Harry's hand and gave the boy a tight smile. ''Thank you, Porter, but I do think I should join them.''

''Very, well then,'' the messy haired boy replied a little bit too friendly. He leaned back and had a smirk dancing on lips, but Tom could see the annoyance in his eyes of losing his little bait. ''I'll take you up on helping me with this assignment some other time. You know, now that we're _friends_ and all.''

The Slytherin Heir couldn't help but slightly be appraising of the work of Harry. However much the boy said he hated Tom's manipulating ways, the boy himself wasn't much better.

Alphard simply nodded in response to Harry but a flash of frustration was noticeable on his face. Good.

The common room went back to normal as the younger Black joined them. He decided that he would talk to Alphard later. For now he held a close watch on Harry as the boy returned to his work as if nothing had just happened.

He needed to change tactics.


	4. Chapter 4

_Remember to read the A/N at the end._

* * *

**Harry's POV**

As Harry felt the presence of the taller boy fall in step with him in the corridors, he knew his day could only get worse from there. He was on his way to classes and had hoped that the incident with Alphard would enhance Tom's ignorance of him but unfortunately it seemed that the Slytherin Heir had changed his aims.

He could practically feel the smugness radiating from the older boy as they walked side by side. He urged himself not to be goaded but after a few minutes of continues walking he realized that Tom hadn't spoken yet. Surprised, he glanced at him. The boy seemed relaxed; neither acknowledging his glance nor ignoring it.

This was strange. More than five seconds had gone by and Tom Riddle hadn't opened his mouth to terrorize him with his clever little comments?

It was a miracle.

At last Harry decided to let whatever game the future Dark Lord was playing out continue. It was hard seeing as Tom's magic was sizzling out to him with self-satisfaction. He was taunting him without even talking. How the hell did he manage to do that?

But Harry held out and quickly picked up his pace so he could faster get to his destination. He had Divination as his first class period which Tom didn't; proving further that the boy was up to something. Instead Tom had Alchemy, a subject Harry had never heard of at first. When he'd asked Leonard about it he had been told it was a class surrounding ancient science as well as the four basic elements and the study of transmutation of substances.

Basically it was probably the coolest class ever and of course the 'perfect' Tom Riddle would be offered one of the most specialized subjects in school. Meanwhile Harry was on his way to one of his least favorite subjects about stupid fortune reading. Brilliant.

As they kept on walking Tom was still silent and Harry became impressed. It had to be hard not to say something when he could tell that the older boy wanted to. Harry didn't mind whatever method the Slytherin Heir was trying out as it was working for his benefit.

Harry didn't even bother thinking about the reasons why anymore. Why would he? Tom had finally decided to shut up and for some strange reason escorted him to class. He didn't mind. It seemed that Tom wasn't really that much of a bad company when he was quiet.

Just as Harry was beginning to ease up to whatever tactic Tom was doing he felt an excruciating pain on his right arm. His knees gave in and he slumped down to the hard floor of the corridors. What was happening? It was as if his blood was on fire, and he was seeing white.

For a wild second he thought that he was being put through the torture curse. But Harry knew that the Hogwarts's wards would detect it and therefor it would become nearly impossible for such thing to occur. What was it then if no—?

A whip of burning pain on his right arm exploded and he was feeling so much _pain_.

He knew that blood curdling screams was forcing to escape his mouth but he bit down on his tongue. He wouldn't scream. Even as he felt the blood creeping through his effort of biting he refused to scream.

Then the pain lifted and he gasped for air; feeling the metallic blood taste emerging from his mouth. As his vision was being restored he saw the tall frame of the handsome Slytherin Heir watching him.

His eyes were bottomless like burning pits of coal, transfixing and cold. But they were also glittering with something... fascination? _Amusement._

Tom had done this. Harry was going to kill him.

He hastily gave a look to his surroundings and it dawned on him. They'd been walking through the abandoned corridor. Now it made sense of why the boy had followed him to Divination. Tom had planned this; he knew Harry wouldn't ask questions if he was quiet as it was exactly what he'd always wanted, he knew that on his way to class he'd have to pass the empty hallway and _he knew_ that Harry never brought his wand to the stupid fortune class.

Harry was wandless and vulnerable. He should've seen this coming somehow, how could he have let his guard go down?

He felt two slender fingers under his chin and he moved away from the touch but the grip of the fingers was firm; forcing him to meet the smirking Slytherin Heir's face.

''Don't tell me you're going to wallow in self-pity when the fun part haven't even begun,'' Tom mused, traces of delightment heard in his voice.

Harry put on a nonchalant expression and shrugged lazily, despite the pain that shot through his body from it.

''Of course not,'' he responded easily as if the situation didn't bother him at all. ''I absolutely love being tortured and bled out by complete psychopaths. I must ask, though, if this is how you often greet exchanging students of late?''

Tom circled around him, hungrily eyeing him as a prey when he spoke. His steps were light and faint, but quick as viper. Like a snake.

''I'm pleased you find comfort in your... _current circumstance_,'' the future Dark Lord said delicately. His circling around him stopped and instead he halted in front of him. The older boy bent down so he was now in eye level with him.

Piercing green eyes met with the hollow black ones. Neither's stare wavered.

''You know, seeing as you're not really an exchange student.''

Harry's blood turned to ice. It had been a mistake to have looked the other boy in the eye because as much as his tongue could tell lies, his eyes hesitated at times.

He was so screwed.

Tom seemed to have caught something in the other because he stood up from his position, looking too content for Harry's liking.

''I think it's time for us to have a little talk,'' Tom declared smoothly. ''This time without lies or tricks that would be holding you back from telling me the truth.''

Harry was getting slightly on edge but decided to think rationally. Tom didn't have any solid proof. Or did he? He examined the boy. The future Dark Lord would win if Harry didn't stay focused. He wouldn't be cracked so easily.

''If this is how you treat all of the students here, I fail to see how you're a Prefect,'' Harry responded calmly at last. ''Unless everyone's suddenly into the whole 'tortured and bled out' thing.''

He'd act the opposite of what his instincts told him because his instincts were the ones of a Gryffindor. A lion couldn't beat a snake in its own chamber therefor he'd think like a Slytherin for this.

Tom smirked, eyes tracing over his face in enticement. ''No, I'm sure it's only you.''

''I'd say I'm flattered,'' Harry gritted out sarcastically but then nodded towards his right arm, ''but then again I don't really meet people who express their flattery through torturous spells.''

It was a thin white band around his right hand that looked a bit like a bracelet. Harry hadn't dared to touch it yet as he didn't know what would happen if he did. If Tom had placed it there he was sure it wasn't just an early Christmas present.

''It's a Dark Art's bonding spell,'' the Slytherin Heir explained when he saw Harry stare at it. ''I placed it there to keep you from running a way, which you seem so fond of doing. The process of putting it there got a bit messier than usual because of your magic being a bit _defiant_. If you'd refrained from resisting so much, you wouldn't have felt any pain.''

''Is it permanent?'' Harry gulped, hating how unsure his voice was sounding.

Tom was looking at him with casual, calculating eyes and he didn't like how it was as if the older boy somehow saw through him. ''You don't like it when I take advantage of your incomprehension.''

Harry gritted his teeth and hated even more how much of a business-like and nonchalant demeanor Tom held for this.

''I don't like it when anyone touches or places things on me without my consent!'' he snapped, fury flashing in his features. His magic lighted up at his rage.

The handsome boy was watching him thoughtfully and Harry could practically see the wheels spinning in the others head. Then he got closer until there was little space between them, and those dark eyes locked into with his.

''You _know_,'' Tom murmured dangerously at last. ''Don't you, Harry? You're aware of who I am; through the model student facade. All your little ominous references and underlying threats point to it — you think I haven't noticed them?''

Harry tried turning his gaze away from the blazing look of the future Dark Lord. He could sense the purring satisfaction the boy felt of saying it all in the open as they had tip-toed around each other so delicately for the past months.

''Therefor,'' the boy continued silkily and sharply turned Harry's face towards his so that he couldn't escape the others look, ''you ought to know _that I don't care of what you like or don't like_.''

''Because you're a sociopath with complete disregard for others feelings?'' Harry spat disdainfully.

''Yes,'' Tom answered simply.

Harry knew what the other boy was implying but refused to acknowledge that he understood. The Slytherin Heir had placed the bracelet there because it would benefit him during the interrogation. He reminded him that he didn't act upon things through what was morally right, but rather through whatever would benefit him the most.

Tom was somehow in his own wicked way atoning an explanation of his actions to Harry, as if he wanted him to comprehend the reasoning for it. Like some sort of a sick apology. But the Slytherin Heir didn't feel remorse or guilt therefor he couldn't apologize. So whatever words Tom had said meant nothing to Harry.

All it told him was why the explanation of his actions had seemed necessary on Tom's part. He deliberately reminded Harry that this wasn't a strategy to taunt him but rather a tactic for him to get through his questioning quicker.

The sheer fact of the future Dark Lord doing such thing implied that he held some sort of regard or a prime courtesy to him. And Harry didn't like that, it threw him off. So he didn't dwell on it.

Instead he nodded towards his right arm, repeating his question again. ''Is it permanent?''

''No,'' the other answered gracefully. ''It will preserve for an hour or two.''

Harry let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd held. He then saw Tom swiftly move his wand and a trickling feeling fell over them. Giving the boy a questioning look he was met by a grin growing on the others lips.

''A cloaking spell,'' Tom explained with that charming drawl. ''Now, I think it's time for our little question and answering session, don't you think?''

**Ginny's POV**

The snow had started falling. Ginny watched as the snow fell through the high windows, the courtyard's grass was being covered little by little. It was already December and barely two days had passed since she'd been told to go back into the 1940's.

She hadn't gotten an opportunity of speaking to the Headmaster again. The old man had seemed very busy after their first meeting and whenever she spoke to Hermione the girl encouraged her not to speak of the event that had occured in open places. But the only time Ginny ever saw her was during meals or in the Gryffindor common room; they weren't in the same year and their hobbies were very different, which resulted her into never seeing the curly headed girl in private.

She was beginning to become really irritated. Dumbledore and Hermione had both laid this huge bomb of information on her and had required something from her that could put her sanity at danger. When she wanted nothing more than simple answers to her questions they were suddenly nowhere to be found? _Aghh!_

Ginny gritted her teeth and tried focusing on her Transfiguration class.

Her sleep deprivation had gotten worse. Somehow knowing that Harry was so close within her reach was torturous. Her Glamour was weighing on her and pieces of her tiredness was seeping through. A few of her friends had pointed it out and she had easily shrugged it off, but it was getting to her now more than ever.

When she got to 1942 she would truly know if Harry was the cause behind the weird feeling she'd felt of... how had she phrased it again? A lost finger? Whatever it was, it was why she was more than eager to get there even if it meant stumbling upon a manipulating bastard of a future Dark Lord.

Even if the quest was to bring Harry back, it was as much of her own journey as Dumbledore and the other people behind it effort in setting it. Ginny cared about Harry as he was a close friend of hers and she would get him home safe, but she'd also figure out whatever mystery was going on of her affectedness of his absence.

Why Harry? What link did she have to him? She would find out.

She would.

As the red heads eyes landed on the Transfiguration Professor she suddenly got a light bulb go off in her head.

Hadn't Professor Snape and McGonagall been involved in the helping of the arrangements of finding Harry? If she couldn't get hold of Dumbledore or Hermione, surely she could get hold of the others connected to them.

**SPSPSP**

When classes ended, she purposely stood behind the others after so she could catch the Head of House alone. Ginny held tightly to her books and parchments as the older woman turned around and regarded her with a questioning look.

''Professor McGonagall?''

''Yes, Miss Weasley?'' the Professor acknowledged her presence as she watched her cautiously.

The redhead cleared her throat: feeling a bit uncomfortable under the older woman's gaze.

''I'm aware of your involvement in the events that have happened,'' she said warily. ''I haven't gotten a chance to speak to Professor Dumbledore or Hermione about it. They seem rather busy. I was wondering if—''

''My dear,'' the women erupted her in midsentence. McGonagall's hazel eyes were observing her with concern. ''If you're about to ask me of any information of it, I apologize, but I cannot help you.''

She frowned. ''Why not?''

Her question came out a lot more accusing than she'd intended, but she didn't care. Why were they tip-toeing around her? All she wanted was answers to harmless questions. She needed to know her preparation for leaving. Didn't she deserve to know as much?

Ginny felt for the first time, a prickling sensation in her body. She'd never felt it before, it was forceful and energetic. It stilled her for a moment.

''You need to take control of your magic,'' she heard a stark voice pull her back to reality.

She met Professor McGonagall's gaze and her Head of House looked alarmed; looking at her if she were a ticking bomb.

''My magic?'' she repeated, confused. She felt how her head suddenly throbbed with pain and heard a swooshing sound in her ears. She got weak in her bones and nearly lost her stance. Quickly she leaned against a bench for support and the old woman rushed to her side.

''Miss Weasley? Are you feeling alright?''

_Obviously not,_ she thought. Instead she shook her head; not trusting her voice to carry strong enough if she opened her voce.

''I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing,'' the Professor muttered and was about to lead her out the doors before she held back with whatever strength she had left.

''No,'' she protested weakly and removed the others grip which she quickly regretted as she felt unsteady without it. ''There's no need for it.''

'''_No need for it'_?'' the woman repeated, baffled. ''I'm sorry, Ginevra, but you hardly seem in a position where you can think rationally for yourself.''

Ginny shook her head fiercely, refusing to let the elder track her away from her original plan. She needed her answers. Her head would explode without them.

When Professor McGonagall once again moved to usher her outside, she snapped.

''I don't need medical assistance!'' she thundered, her voice getting stronger. She could feel how her crystal eyes were blazing. ''What I need is answers. Please.''

Silent settled over the empty classroom and her Head of House had gone silent. The hawk-eye gaze settled over her and McGonagall seemed to quietly make some sort of decision.

''If you must insist,'' the woman somberly answered, breaking the silence.

Professor McGonagall moved forward for the last time and firmly but gently took hold of her arm. This time she didn't let her sway her away.

''Where are you taking me?'' Ginny asked, intrigued of how she'd somehow convinced her Head of House into bidding her wants.

If she was quite honest, maybe medical assistance had been what she needed. She felt a bit insane as reality seemed to slip out of her grip in small doses every day.

''I'm taking you to your answers that you seem so keen on asking after,'' the woman said at last, and the whole way through the castle she refused to reply to anything else that came out of the red head's mouth.

**Cygnus' POV**

He held his younger brother's arm in a forceful grip to keep him from escaping his dormitory.

''Let go of me,'' Alphard demanded calmly but his stormy eyes were withholding a dangerous glint to them.

''_No_,'' he hissed fiercely, not done with the argument taking place. ''You've put our position with the Dark Lord at risk. You're not leaving here until I've helped you get rid of the anger you've ascended to our family.''

Alphard laughed and it crawled underneath his skin. He then savagely pushed him away, making his grip on his younger brother disappear. He growled.

_Stupid, impeccable boy,_ he thought hotly. Why had the powerful, remarkable Tom Riddle chosen such an impulsive and provocative follower into his outmost inner circle? Why Alphard —the black goat in his family that held too many Gryffindor qualities and were a _disgrace_— and not him?

His sister Walburga could even do better than the fool! She worshipped the charming and alluring Dark Lord. Even his cousin Orion would do better.

He looked at his brother in distaste; he held such boldness and contumaciously thinking, he was a humiliation to the House of Black.

The younger boy scoffed at his stare. He then daringly approached him; using the little inches of his height in advantage to scrutinize him.

''_Our_ position?'' Alphard menacingly repeated. ''Last time I checked, it was _mine_. Tom chose me, not you or Walburga or even Orion; me. It's about time you accept it, brother.''

He spat the last word and Cygnus' eyes narrowed.

''You do well to remember who helped you when you w—''

''_YOU NEVER HELPED ME!_''

He froze, feeling his whole body tense by the yelling. Cygnus became instantly alarmed by the changing demeanor in his younger brother. His normally charming and glowing face was now consumed by anger; his eyes were flaring and mouth quivering with rage.

His hands were turned to fist and the knuckles had turned white. Alphard crouched forward and he instinctively took a step back.

He'd never seen his brother so angry before.

''You never helped me,'' the younger boy breathed heavily now. ''All the times I looked at you for help as Mother and Father constantly terrorized me, you turned your uptight little nose in the air as if you saw nothing.''

Cygnus didn't reply, shocked as he felt his eyes sting. Alphard's rueful face suddenly melted; instead washing into complete agony of tiredness.

In front of him he saw the frail and uncertain little boy that had come to knock on his doors at night, telling him he had nightmares. He always turned him away; hissing at him and throwing insults about his weakness.

It tore at his chest. At last, Cygnus took a deep breath and tightened his posture.

He looked at his younger brother's intense stare. Alphard was pleading to him, begging him to help him as a brother. He needed him.

But Cygnus needed power. And Alphard had robbed him off it the moment he'd gotten in Tom Riddle's favor.

''Dry your tears away,'' he coldly said to him, even as he felt his own eyes threaten to spill. ''Fix whatever you broke with the Dark Lord.''

He then turned away from his brother's emotion filled face and got out of the dormitory.

* * *

**A/N:** I finished writing this yesterday and didn't plan on posting it until a week. And then I got stuck on Chapter 5. I'm growing a bit insecure in my writing and I need help. If you don't want to then that's alright, I still appreciate you guys that read my story in silence.

For you who would like to help — I need you to tell me your dislikes/likes in my story. If you've ever felt that someone has been out of character, tell me. If you feel like you want a character to have specific moment etc., tell me. I truly now need criticism now more than ever. I will give you an example of what i mean.

Refrain from this: ''I like everything! Continute as you do.''

Try this: ''I like everything, some examples like when we get to see glimpses of Ginny's memories from St Mungo's. I don't like the lack of Hermione and Ron. Try testing out the emotional boundaries between Tom and Harry as well as the physical. Your writing is also a bit pretentious with the unneseccary long words. I'd try a more simple, quick to the point writing. The details aren't really that important.''

See the difference? Even if the second one might seem a bit harsh, I will love it. It's what will help my writing.

I truly thank you if you help me with this. I'm growing frustrated at myself as I'm questioning my every move. I read some ''_Avoiding Mistakes in Fanfiction Writing: A Beginner's Guide_'' and wanted to cry when I noticed that I had done so much of what you shouldn't.

They weren't joking when they said that an author's their own worst critic. I probably need a Beta reader, but the process of finding one is too exhausting. Ugh.


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